The War of the Roses: The Children (16 page)

“Is there anything I should know, Josh?” she asked.

“Nothing I can think of,” he shrugged. “Things at school are fine. They're adjusting remarkably well to the….” He hesitated. “To the situation. I hope it goes as well on your watch.”

She let a long moment go by as her eyes roamed the room.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The children seem different,” she said, her eyes landing on him finally.

“Different? How so?”

“I can't put my finger on it,” she said thoughtfully. “They appear… I don't know… different.”

“How?”

“I'm not sure.”

He was confused by her observation and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on or had decided to build a case against the idea they were pursuing. The children certainly did not look different to him. Had they forgotten something? Left a trace of Evie? Or did she sense his sister's presence?

“Is there an implication here that I haven't done right by them?”

“Not at all, Josh,” she said quickly. “Maybe it's only my imagination.”

“You can see they're quite happy and content.”

“Yes they are,” she agreed, but she looked tentative.

Then she shrugged and picked up her computer. She unstrapped the protective case and removed an envelope from one of the pockets and handed it to him.

“The papers we talked about,” she said.

He contemplated the envelope in his hands.

“Aren't you rushing things a bit, Victoria?” he said.

“I told you I was preparing them, Josh.”

He nodded and looked at the envelope dumbly.

“No sense procrastinating. We have, after all, agreed on a divorce.”

It struck him as a one-sided agreement, but he did not protest.

He dreaded reading the agreement. It meant hassle and conflict, and he suspected that her idea of fairness would be terribly biased. Besides, he had just begun to assess his own position. He sensed that his perspective was changing. During the past two weeks, he had felt the initial pain of the prospect of divorce dissipate. Perhaps he had begun to adjust to his single state, missing her less than he might have expected.

He thought he had successfully erased the pain from his mind, but seeing her now face to face recalled the hurt. He remembered that the first few nights of sleeping alone had been awful. Reaching beside him in the bed, he had felt the cold empty space and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. And he could not deny the missing aura of her presence and her scent, the absence of her voice and movement. There were other inchoate yearnings as well, physical and mental.

“Read the documents carefully, Josh,” she said crisply.

“I will.”

They exchanged glances and she was the first to turn away. She did not volunteer any more information about how she had spent the two weeks. Accept it, he urged himself. She is creating a life without him.

“I'll take the Lexus. You'll need the Explorer.”

She nodded.

“You'll call every day, of course,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

He went into the garage.

“Do you think this is going to work?” she asked.

“I do,” he said, averting her eyes as he moved toward his suitcases. “See you in two weeks,” he said, feeling empty and alone.

As he drove out of the garage, his eyes misted. He could barely see the road and had to calm himself and blink away the tears.

During the long lonely nights in her new studio apartment on the East Side, she had weighed the pros and cons of the invitation to her mother. Josh, she knew, would be furious, and it would probably endanger the entire project. But Victoria was busily engaged setting up a new practice and might be called on to meet with clients in Manhattan. She did not want a surrogate mother to be in charge during this critical time and a grandmother was definitely in a different category.

“You must refrain from expressing any negativity to the children,” Victoria had explained. “This is a delicate time for them.”

“Don't you think I know that?”

“And no belligerent outbursts.”

“Me?”

“I want them to think of you as a loving Gramma, a person that they will always remember with affection and warmth.”

“What's a Gramma for?” she chuckled.

“Do it for me, Mother.”

“What about Josh? Will he object?”

“Never mind Josh. Even a big girl needs her Mommy when she's in trouble,” Victoria said with an air of amusement, knowing her words would have their softening effect.

***

Victoria arose early to make a solid healthy breakfast for the children. She cooked the oatmeal and put out toast and sugar-free jam, orange juice and skimmed milk.

“So it went well the last two weeks?” she said to the children as they ate their oatmeal. They did not seem particularly hungry.

“Very well,” Michael said, glancing at his sister.

“We had a real good time with Daddy,” Emily said. Victoria sensed that Emily was forcing herself to be cheerful, saying things her mother wanted to hear.

“I'm so glad,” Victoria said, pausing, hoping that this would be the best time to tell them about her mother.

“I've got another surprise for you. Gramma is going to stay with us.”

The children turned to each other and shrugged. Emily looked suddenly sad.

“She loves you very much,” Victoria said. “I'd like you to get to know her. You may be seeing a great deal of her from now on.”

“Sure, Mom,” Michael said. Emily nodded, but without enthusiasm.

“I may have to be going to Manhattan on some days,” she explained further. “With Gramma here I'll feel a lot better.” She paused and studied their faces. “Did Dad have good help for you guys?”

“Very good.” Michael said, looking at his sister, who averted her eyes.

“Was she reliable? I mean, was she here when you came home from school?”

“Yes she was,” Michael said.

“Did she help cook?”

“Yes she did,” Michael said, turning to his sister, who nodded.

“Gramma is a great cook. She really knows her nutrition. She's also very smart and can help with your homework. Did Dad help you?”

“Dad always helps us with our homework, Mom,” Michael said. Again Emily nodded.

“Of course he does,” Victoria said, realizing that they might interpret her questions as too probing. She did not want them to think that she disapproved of the way Josh had taken care of them. So far, she hadn't, although she still could not get it out of her mind that things were somehow different.

She could not put her finger on the difference and it puzzled her. There were certain expectations. Growing children changed rapidly and it was possible to miss a growth spurt or some subtle swift change. They did seem healthy and full of cheerful spirits that belied the break in their routine. Perhaps she had imagined that they would be more withdrawn and introspective. Dismissing her bafflement, she attributed it to her own faulty observation.

“Gramma will be here when you come home from school. And, of course, she'll drive you to your other activities. I know you'll both be very obedient and respectful to her.”

“We will, Mom,” Michael said, rising from the table. Emily also rose. “She's our Gramma.”

“Your only Gramma,” Victoria said pointedly.

She studied the children as they got up from the table and gathered their backpacks.

“Is something wrong, Mommy?” Emily asked, noting her curiosity.

“No dear. Nothing,” she replied hastily.

Both children kissed her and went out the door. It was at that moment that she suspected what might have made them appear different. Was it her imagination? They looked more cherubic than when she had seen them two weeks ago, more filled out. And their clothes seemed tighter.

When they had gone, she inspected the refrigerator and cupboards. There weren't any signs of no-nos. Perhaps it was only her imagination. Children grew fast. She had never been away from them for two weeks before.

She spent the morning roaming the house. Even the den, after a cursory inspection, had a different feel, which was the only way she could describe it. She would have to spend at least a day during the next two weeks dusting and cleaning the place. Perhaps then she might find out what was giving her this feeling.

Everything looked remarkably neat, which gratified her at first, then began to trouble her. The children's rooms were never in such a tidy condition. Had Josh urged them to show their mother how neat they could be? That was the only explanation that made any sense.

Finally, she decided that it was only natural that she would feel this way after a two-weeks' absence. She had removed herself from the routine of the household. Of course, it had to “feel” different.

Shrugging off her odd discomfort, she checked for any messages at her new office. She had made a series of telephone calls to her old contacts. Things had begun to happen. Clients were coming on board.

Despite the net worth of her investments, she wanted to quickly establish her financial independence from her husband. It was less the money than the concept. She did not want him to have any psychological advantage over her.

Victoria had carefully researched the question of custody, discovering that they could agree legally to a joint custody agreement that kept parenting as intact as humanly possible under the circumstances. This would be the one time, she vowed to herself, when children of divorce will not grow up mistrustful, insecure, and generally screwed up; like herself, she chuckled. Action and reaction. She knew what a split family had done to her.

Her mother arrived early in the afternoon. Mrs. Stewart was a tall, lean woman, the vestiges of early beauty still visible, although bitterness had cast a pinched look around her lips and eyes. She looked no worse for wear since Victoria had seen her at Christmas time. She came laden with gifts for the children and a carefully chosen present for Victoria, a brand-new leather briefcase. Victoria got the point at once.

“Well, here I am,” she said. “Prepared to do the loving Gramma bit.”

Victoria embraced her, thankful for her presence. In crisis, her mother always came through.

***

During the afternoon, she carefully instructed her mother about the children's routine, handing her a schedule of their activities and the various no-nos that had been proscribed. No television during the week, no junk food, a strict homework schedule, and neither of them up after nine.

“Above all, Mother, I want them to get used to your presence. And I don't want them to hear one bad word about their father.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Guard your tongue, Mother. That's all I ask.”

The children came home from school and greeted their grandmother with what Victoria felt was obedient affection. She wished her mother was a more cuddly type, but that wasn't in the cards. Respect was good enough at this juncture, and the children seemed to understand that.

Victoria and her mother prepared a dinner consisting of a fruit cup, broiled chicken, baked potatoes, boiled carrots and string beans, sourdough bread and jam, and fat-free chocolate ice cream, their favorite flavor. Chopin played on the stereo in the background. Neither Michael nor Emily exhibited much of an appetite, which troubled Victoria.

“What's going on here?” she asked, watching them playing with their food. Emily ate almost nothing.

“Just not hungry today, Mommy,” Emily said.

“Gramma helped make this wonderful dinner,” Victoria said. “The only way we can acknowledge that is by eating it.”

Michael seemed to make an effort in that direction, but without relish, she noted. As they were about to start the ice cream course, the telephone rang.

“That's probably Daddy,” Victoria said as the children exchanged glances.

Michael got up and ran to the phone while Emily hurried to the kitchen. Michael picked up the phone, but before speaking, he covered the mouthpiece and looked at his mother.

“Shall I tell him that Gramma's here?” he asked.

“What do you think, Michael?”

“I will if you want me to,” he said.

“It can wait,” Victoria said gently, trying to dismiss the idea as being of little importance.

She listened as Michael spoke to his father, noting his change of mood. He seemed animated and enthusiastic. She had wanted that, of course, but it did give her a stab of jealousy. Had they spoken to her with the same enthusiasm? After what seemed like a longer conversation than they normally had with her, they came back to the table and began to eat their ice cream with more appetite than they had shown earlier.

“How is Dad?” she asked.

“Fine,” Michael said.

“Did he mention where he is?”

“No,” Michael said.

Victoria hadn't expected him to ask for her, but the fact that he didn't annoyed her. This failure was not lost on Mrs. Stewart.

“Did he ask to speak with your mother?” she inquired with more snappishness than Victoria might have wished.

Michael shook his head and averted his eyes as he continued eating his ice cream.

“It wasn't required, Mother,” Victoria said.

“One would think that your common interest in the children would have.”

“Never mind, Mother. I didn't speak to him more than once or twice during his stay.”

“I'm sorry I mentioned it,” she said with peevishness.

After dinner, the children went upstairs to do their homework, but before doing so both Victoria and her mother demonstrated their affection with hugs and vocal expressions of devotion.

“Love you kids,” they said, embracing both children in turn.

“Me, too, Mommy and Gramma,” Emily said going from one to the other.

“Love you guys,” Michael said as he kissed and hugged both women.

Victoria was well aware that she needed this demonstrative validation as much as the children did. The more repetitive, the better. Mrs. Stewart, too, despite her colder nature, seemed to enjoy the ritual.

“Do the children look different?” Victoria asked as they both cleaned the kitchen.

“How so?”

“Bigger. More filled out.”

“Now that you mention it,” Mrs. Stewart said, observing her daughter curiously, “you're right. They're busting out of their clothes.”

“Then again, children grow fast,” Victoria reflected. “Two weeks is a long time in a child's life.”

“Yes it is,” her mother agreed.

“There's more,” Victoria muttered after a long silence. “But I can't put my finger on it.”

Her mother shrugged.

“It's perfectly natural. There's a life change going on. Everything will probably seem different.”

Victoria carefully maintained the routine that they had followed during the days before the separation. Her mother was enormously helpful, driving the children to extra-curricular activities, helping with the cooking while Victoria followed up on her search for clients. She went into Manhattan a number of times to check on her office and apartment but was always home for dinner.

Josh called every night at dinnertime and the children talked with him, their conversations animated and cheerful. She still resented not being asked to talk with him, but felt good about the children maintaining the bond with their father. Her mother continued to prod her.

“You'd think he would at least ask for your assessment of how things are going,” Mrs. Stewart told her.

“I assume the children are giving him that information.”

“I hope they haven't mentioned me.”

“So do I.”

In the middle of her second week of taking care of the children, Victoria sent her mother to the supermarket, planning to spend the entire day dusting and cleaning the den with special emphasis on her books and Victoriana collectibles. She climbed the book ladder and removed some of her large hats for dusting. It was then that she discovered that one of them was missing, a straw hat with a green ribbon around the crown.

“That is strange,” she whispered aloud. She assumed that all the hats were in place before she had left the house two weeks ago. But she couldn't be certain, since permanent objects often went unnoticed. The inescapable fact, however, was that the hat with the green ribbon was missing.

Could it be the woman that Josh had employed had taken a fancy to the hat and helped herself to it? Women were often tempted to try on the hats. Sometimes she had actually let them do just that, but always under her careful supervision. She allowed herself no conclusion, but made a mental note to discuss it with Josh when he called that night.

Soon after learning of the hat's disappearance, she discovered that one of the prized inkwells in her collection was not in its proper place on an end table. Had it been moved elsewhere? She carefully searched through the collection. She knew each piece, having carefully chosen every purchase. It was nowhere to be found. Still, she was not ready to make a concrete conclusion.

But when she could not find a pink vase, one of her very first acquisitions, in its usual place above the mantelpiece, it began to dawn on her that this was something that demanded greater attention. She went through the collection, noting that not one but two inkwells were gone. A second pass at her collection showed a cobalt-blue bell also among the missing.